


Rhythm

by sarai377



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarai377/pseuds/sarai377
Summary: Dancing has always been a part of Robin’s life, and now he finally gets his chance to dance with Chrom. 
In response to the "Dancing" prompt for Chrobinweek 2016. 
mChrobin





	

The rhythm starts first, a slow surging like the thrum of his blood. It moves Robin. Almost before he's aware of it, he’s moving toward Chrom, by his side, where he's always felt most secure.

Chrom speaks, a hesitant smile in his voice, but Robin can't focus on the blurred words. The prince's blue eyes glow dimly in the light as he takes hold of Robin's arm.

Time pauses for a moment, and Robin closes his eyes.

Then he moves.

Chrom catches his hand and turns them, as the music - and the dance - begins in earnest.

Robin remembers dancing with his mother, years ago, around a fire pit with several others. That was back when he'd been allowed to bare his marked hand, before he’d started wearing bandages and then a vambrace to disguise the mark. The dance had been an offering of praise and promise to their god. They'd danced to grant Robin power and strength. He'd been six or seven, and barely old enough to participate in the ceremony. One misstep would have brought their god's wrath upon them, but Robin had studied well and his performance was flawless. _He’s a natural_ , the others whispered, as his mother looked on, proud. _Grima has blessed him_.

In the Ylissean courts, he'd learned a different kind of dancing. Stately, flourished - unlike the raw emotional dance for his god, the dances of the courts were no less technical. Men and women danced together to court one another, or for political maneuvering.

Robin had taken to the regimented moves like a fish in water, learning the new dances with ravenous abandon. All of the single female Shepherds had wanted to dance with him… but Robin had eyes for only one person, and dancing with him was not acceptable.

Robin remembers standing beside Chrom during one celebration, recalls the warmth of secret clasped hands, of an intimate caress stolen in an alcove. They had looked at one another, and there had been an unspoken promise - _one day, we shall dance, and they will know_.

But then, the war with Valm. No more dances, the wild ones or the civil, orderly kind. Just exhaustion and stolen nights together, and weary lingering glances over the ruins of a battle well-planned and well-fought.

Now, finally, they dance.

It is a combination of Robin’s ceremonial dance, and Chrom’s kingdom’s waltzes, urgent and yet orderly, emotion surging up against reaction. They come together, Robin grinning with the wildness of the dance. Chrom's brow is furrowed in concentration, watching, reacting, not wanting to step out of line. Nobody is watching, not yet, but Robin feels eyes upon them anyway.

The rhythm pounds a strange but familiar tempo in his head. Hours of drilling strikes and countermoves side by side with Chrom has made him intimately familiar with his prince’s movements, anticipating the sweep of his arm, the twist of his hips. Nights spent in close, heated embrace have taught Robin to vary the tempo, to stretch the movements for maximum impact. He wants to show Chrom that he’s good at this, to make Chrom proud.

Robin stays just within range of Chrom’s hands, almost making body contact.

Chrom is there, matching him step for step. Reflected light dances between and around them, and Robin’s hand glides down Chrom’s bare arm, corded muscles nearly vibrating beneath hot skin.

“I… I’m sorry, Chrom,” he whispers when they draw close.

Chrom’s eyes are dark and weighted, most of his focus on getting the moves just so. But when Robin speaks, Chrom looks up.

“I know,” Chrom responds instantly. “Me too.”

And then, a falter, a mistake, a flash of light. Robin has never made a misstep when it counted, but for some reason he thinks - he knows - he has tripped first.

“Robin!” Chrom gasps.

There's a pressure in his stomach, and Robin stumbles, the steps of their dance falling away. The rhythm calls out, demanding now, but Robin cannot keep up with it.

His sword falls from limp fingers.

Why couldn't their first dance have come under different circumstances?

The sorrowful copper tang of blood fills Robin’s mouth. Spark and light shatter through him as his knees hit the hard marble floor.

One of Robin’s hands goes to the hilt of Falchion, buried in his stomach. He can feel the bitter-sharp edge of the blade out his back, beside his spine, stinging as he breathes and shifts around it. Chrom is beside him in an instant, assessing the wound as his arm slips across Robin’s shoulders. It’s bad, Robin can tell, from looking at Chrom. A fatal wound, to a mortal.

_Stay away,_ Robin thinks, but his mouth won't work, other that to gasp at the pain. Chrom’s eyes are close, worried for Robin. He should be watching for treachery, but he isn't.

“I'm sorry, Chrom,” Robin says, eyes filling with red. His marked right hand goes to Chrom. Lightning arcs in inexorable, inevitable patterns, suddenly buried deep into his prince's chest.

Chrom gasps, and clings to Robin, his eyes opening wide.

“I didn't want this…” Robin whispers.

“I know,” Chrom answers through gritted teeth. “At least we got to... dance together… one time.” He smiles, eyelashes flickering. “You were beautiful... Robin.”

Robin shakes his head, refusing that statement. A dance with bared swords was never one he’d wanted to dance, not with Chrom. It was ugly, and horrible, and wrong, but he can’t tell Chrom any of those things, because the light is fading from Chrom’s eyes, dulling the blue and all the colors around him to some horrible shade of gray.

“I… love you,” he says instead, and closes his eyes as Chrom collapses beside him.

The laughter starts inside of him - and it is not sane. Robin rips the Falchion from his stomach, his body blissfully numb. The blade clatters to the hard floor.

He stands, refusing to look at the body of the man he loved.

He’s relieved when that heart-shaking tempo starts up again, calling him to action, taking over.

When the barrier falls, Robin grins, and advances.

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with this idea that I brainstormed with Zet (g-r-i-m-a.tumblr.com) a few weeks ago, so this dose of angst is partially due to him. (As an aside, I'm also in love with the idea that dance is a central part of Plegia's culture, AND that Robin is a really good dancer because of that. I might play around with this in another fanfic at some point...)
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading, and please let me know what you think.


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